A Lady in Disguise

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  A small mound of still-mortared bricks stood waist high in the corner of the courtyard, where, no doubt, a mighty tower had once stood. Now the remnant was spread with a dazzlingly white cloth. Becksnaff stood by, working the cork from a bottle of the sparkling wine of Anjou. An entire meal al fresco was spread out beside him, a footman still laying out the silver on the white tablecloth.

  “I found her,” Thorpe announced, approaching the small group seated on chairs around the impromptu table.

  Judging by the expressions on their faces, it was a matter of complete indifference to Lady Genevieve and Addy. Frank was interested. “Didja see any ghosts down there. Miss Cole?”

  “No. Absolutely none.” Her pride allowed no mention of the ones she’d heard or conjured up herself from the darkness. She drank thirstily of the wine Becksnaff gave her. Then, with a glance around, she finished it more discreetly.

  “That’s too bad.” Frank swallowed the large bite he chewed. “This chicken’s right good,” he said as if surprised.

  Thorpe said, “May I serve you, Miss Cole?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Everard. I can help myself.” If only he would show displeasure at this slight, Lillian thought, she would have some hope that the moment they shared meant something to him. But he only nodded pleasantly and went to carry a glass of wine to his grandmother.

  Lillian ate only a few bites before she found herself answering young Frank’s questions about the reasons the castle had been ruined. This naturally led her to discussing Cromwell and the overthrow of the doomed Charles I. Finding that Addy and Gina seemed also to be listening, Lillian pitched her voice a trifle louder and tried to tell history like a story. Although when she had learned the facts herself, she’d always sided with the romantic Cavaliers, talking to the children forced her to give due weight to the arguments for the other side.

  So caught up was she in imparting this sad, yet romantic tale to the children that she hardly noticed when the youngest of the four footmen employed at the castle approached his master. Only when she found that her audience was distracted did Lillian stop speaking. Like the others, she watched Thorpe as he tore open a note.

  “I’m sorry but it seems we’ll have to end our picnic prematurely,” he said. “Visitors have arrived.” He handed the paper to Lady Genevieve, who held it out to arm’s length in order to be able to read it.

  “Oh, dear, not her again,” she said under her breath, the thin lines of her brows drawing together.

  As Lillian gave her plate to Becksnaff, she wondered if perhaps Paulina Pritchard, unable to contain her curiosity, had come herself. If Thorpe had no real feelings for Paulina, he might not be pleased to see her, and Lady Genevieve would undoubtedly resent any woman with designs on her grandson. Lillian knew it was wicked to hope to be in the room when Lady Genevieve told Paulina about the curse and the ghost. It was certainly wicked to hope that Paulina would leave as soon as she heard the tale.

  “Papa, is it... ?” Addy’s small face crumpled worriedly. “Is it my grandparents Grenshaw?”

  Thorpe squatted down to see into his daughter’s gray eyes. “Yes, they’ve come with your cousin, Nora Ellis.”

  “Do I have to see them? Can’t I run away?”

  Lillian felt a little shocked by this reaction on Addy’s part. Though her own father’s parents had died long before her birth, her maternal grandfather had doted on her until his own passing seven years ago. The feeling had been entirely mutual. Lillian could remember running into Mr. Wentlow’s arms with shouts of elation.

  Thorpe gave a low chuckle. “You’ll be glad they’ve come once you’ve seen them.”

  “No, I won’t,” the child said firmly, but her father had stood up.

  “We’d better go and greet them.” He did not seem any more delighted by the prospect than Lady Genevieve or Addy. He asked Lillian, “Will you see to it that Addy is washed and combed before she is presented?”

  “As you wish, Mr. Everard.” Lillian watched as Thorpe gave the key to the gate to Becksnaff. Then he offered his arm to his. grandmother and led her beneath the gatehouse arch. As he disappeared into the shadows, Lillian felt that he glanced back, perhaps at his child, perhaps at her.

  Addy, still frowning, came over to Lillian’s side. “I don’t need a bath,” she said wearily. “But Grandmother wouldn’t like this dress. I’ll probably have to wear something with lots of lace like the ones she sends me. Come on, Miss Cole.”

  Slowly, Lillian said, “I don’t suppose there’s much of a hurry. Your father did not say that there was. Why not finish your luncheon before we go back to the house? And I suppose you might take a nap on the grass afterwards.”

  Addy raised doubtful eyes. “Do you mean it?”

  “Certainly,” Lillian answered with decision. “I have not done with telling you about King Charles and Oliver Cromwell. Frank, Gina? Come sit by me.” Even Becksnaff bestowed an approving beam upon her as he began to unpack the luncheon basket once again.

  Chapter Seven

  When at last Lillian escorted Addy, properly washed and dressed in a simple dress of white muslin unadorned except by a knot of pink ribbon, into the cavernous salon, the child shrank behind her. She peered out from behind Lillian’s shiny caramel-colored lutestring and whispered, ‘That’s my grandmother Grenshaw sitting beside Great.”

  “Don’t point, Addy.”

  The lady thus indicated sat on a spindly chair close to Lady Genevieve. She was both plump and pale with thin blond curls that looked rather damp, as if newly washed and left to dry. Her soft voice ran on, now rushing, now hesitating, and every so often pausing for a breath, usually in the wrong place. Sometimes she giggled nervously, as though not apologizing for her actions or words so much as for her very existence.

  “And of course, the maids are very good about caring for Lympie Hall while we are gone, so that wasn’t a concern. The vicar’s wife stops by to see that all is well, else they’d dawdle abed till all hours. So though it is no trouble to us to come, I know we shouldn’t do it without an invitation. But Claude so wanted to see little Adrienne again. He just said, ‘Fiddle!’— excuse me, but he does not always constrain his language— Thorpe won’t mind. You know him. He’d not turn a beggar from his doorstep.’ “

  “Quite.” Lady Genevieve dryly dismissed Mrs. Grenshaw’s explanation. “You and Mr. Grenshaw are always welcome to come for brief visits.” It sounded as though Lady Genevieve were repeating something she’d said several times already. Whatever sincerity there’d been in her tone had vanished. Lillian understood why when Mrs. Grenshaw once more began to ramble on about the lack of an invitation. Lady Genevieve cut her short, by saying, “I know that Adrienne is all eagerness to see you again. I cannot think what is keeping her now.”

  That was as good an introduction as any, and Addy seemed to recognize it even as did Lillian. The girl took Lillian’s hand and tugged. “Remember how tired I am, please, Miss Cole. I must go to bed at six. Six, not seven.”

  “I shan’t forget.” She couldn’t very well as Addy had told her half a dozen times since leaving her bedroom. She felt like adding, “Be brave,” but could not have said why.

  Addy let go of Lillian’s hand as she went up to Mrs. Grenshaw. “Good evening, Grandmother,” she said, her hands tucked behind her back, like an admiral facing cold shot.

  Mrs. Grenshaw peered into Addy’s face, and her lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, how she takes me back,” she exclaimed. Tears began to overflow her sandy lashes. As she groped in the reticule at her wrist, she said, “How like my poor tragic child! Exactly the same, the same eyes, the same sweet face.”

  “Now, then, Ursula ...” her husband began from the other side of the room. Lillian noticed that he’d not turned from where he stood near Thorpe to attend his wife, merely throwing the words over his shoulder. He immediately continued talking to his son-in-law, gesturing widely with paddle-like hands.

  “Here, Mrs. Grenshaw, pray take mine,” Lady Genevieve said,
offering between two fingers a dangling square of cambric.

  Mrs. Grenshaw pressed the fabric to her cheeks and sniffled heavily. Then, raising her face, she saw Addy once more. With a howl and sobbing anew, she reached out and gathered the child into her arms, stiff though the small figure was.

  Lillian’s gaze met Lady Genevieve’s. For once, it seemed they were in perfect accord.

  “Come, come, Mrs. Grenshaw, you mustn’t give way like this,” Lady Genevieve said. Perhaps the gentle hand she laid on the other’s arm was not so gentle after all. Certainly, Mrs. Grenshaw suddenly jerked erect with a scarcely muffled, “Yowch!” She turned upon Lady Genevieve an aggrieved stare. With Addy’s grandmother thus distracted, Lillian gently peeled the child free. Addy’s face was red, and she let out her breath gustily.

  “Go and greet your grandfather,” Lady Genevieve said. Lillian could never be certain if the blue-shaded eyelid dropped a trifle or not. But the suddenly appearing and disappearing smile on the child’s face told that she at least was in no doubt.

  “Phew,” Addy confided as she and Lillian crossed the enormous red carpet, “she always smells of medicine.”

  “She can’t help that; you shouldn’t mention such things.”

  Mr. Grenshaw, on the other hand, smelled of tobacco smoke and some kind of fish, but not anything fresh. At the moment, he was leaning forward, prodding Thorpe’s middle waistcoat button with a square-tipped forefinger. “It’s a grand opportunity to double or even triple the money in but a few years’ time. I wouldn’t let anybody but a blood relative in on it, but seeing as you’re the father of my only grandchild ...”

  “And here she comes now ... oh, Addy, how beautiful you are! Is that the frock I bought you in London?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, twinkling at her father. Yet the glow went out of her eyes when the other man leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

  “Is this my little puddly pudding?” he said, screwing up his face into a caricature and sending his voice into a grating squeak. “Is this my rumblety-tumblety kittycakes?”

  Now what, Lillian wondered, was any sensible person to say to that? Surely “yes” was out of the question. She was tempted to answer for Addy and the answer would be a round “Certainly not!” But she held her tongue. She heard a muffled cough from Thorpe. He’d covered his lips with his fist, yet he could not hide the amusement that lit his green eyes. Lillian was sorry he found his daughter’s embarrassment so funny, until she realized he laughed at her own expression. Quickly, Lillian schooled her features into a more becoming blandness.

  Addy said, “I’m pleased to see you. Grandfather,” holding out her hand.

  Mr. Grenshaw ignored it to pat her head, disarranging her carefully brushed hair. “My, aren’t we the little lady though? I suppose if I offered you a sweet, you’d refuse it?”

  “I should like a sweet, if I may?” She lifted her eyes for permission, not toward her father but toward Lillian who felt obscurely pleased that she did so.

  “I think it will be all right,” she answered.

  “Ah, a governess!” Mr. Grenshaw said, as though it was a great discovery. “Now what have you done, little one, to deserve such a lovely mistress?” He looked at Thorpe and this time there was no doubt that a wink was offered.

  Thorpe said, “Miss Cole came to us most highly recommended by a Mrs. Garnet, friend to Lady Paulina Pritchard.”

  This was the first time Lillian had heard Paulina’s name on Thorpe’s lips. She forgot her displeasure in glancing up to see how it affected him. But he’d not changed color nor had his voice quavered so much as a quarter note in its deep timbre. Lillian realized she could not really have expected him to give away his emotions on the subject, yet she now knew no more about his feelings for Paulina than she had when she’d first met him.

  “Ah, a well-connected governess.” Mr. Grenshaw once more gave his attention to Lillian. “Perhaps we shall have a chat, Miss Cole, about your highly placed friends.”

  “As I was an employee only, Mr. Grenshaw, I can tell you nothing about them.” She noticed that Mr. Grenshaw had hard blue eyes, at odds with his aggressively cheerful smile and jolly voice.

  “Grandfather,” Addy piped. “My sweet, if you please.”

  “Eh? Oh, yes, certainly.” He rummaged in his waistcoat pocket and then clapped his hands to his sides. “Let me see now ... I could have sworn... no, not there. I can’t seem to ... I know. I left those citron drops in my other coat. But I’ll give you two tomorrow, if you are a good and patient pippity-poppety tonight. Be certain to remind me, now.” He beamed assurance. “You’d best run away and play now, tiddly-pins. I’ve something important to discuss with your papa.”

  “Yes, come away, Addy,” Lillian said, taking her by the shoulders. Somehow she felt a strong urge to place her body between the child and Mr. Grenshaw.

  “We shall have to have that chat, Miss Cole,” he said even as they walked off.

  Addy said, “I knew he wouldn’t have any sweets. He never does although he always says he does. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be able to talk at all if I had one in my mouth. It wouldn’t be polite.”

  “Never mind, Addy. Sometimes adults play silly games. What shall we do now? Do you want to go upstairs? You needn’t go to sleep yet, if you’re not tired, and I shall finish the story I began last night.”

  “Not yet, please, Miss Cole. I think I shall go outside for a little while, if you don’t mind. I shan’t get dirty.”

  “May I come with you?”

  Addy regarded her with an oddly mature expression in her large gray eyes. “Don’t you want to talk to Grandfather either?”

  “It isn’t that....” Lillian suddenly felt the impropriety of lying to a child, especially when the child saw through every story perfectly well. “Actually,” she continued, lowering her voice, “no, I don’t.”

  “Very well.” Addy held out her hand. Lillian took it, as though their roles were reversed, as if she were the child fleeing an uncomfortable situation.

  They very nearly escaped. Just as Lillian opened the door to the hall, Mrs. Grenshaw called out, “Oh, you’re not going up to bed yet? Surely not! It’s much too early! Come, my love, and sit beside me. I’ve not seen you in ever so long....” She blew her nose on Lady Genevieve’s handkerchief and tucked it into her reticule.

  With a sigh, Addy disengaged her hand from Lillian’s and slow marched back to the embrace of her mother’s mother. Lillian took a chair close to them, so that she might step in if needed. Lady Genevieve, however, made a masterful attempt to divert the conversation whenever Addy showed signs of reluctance to answer any of the thousand questions pressed upon her.

  Knowing, however, that Addy relied on her to keep her promise, Lillian kept her eyes upon the finely inlaid face of the long-case clock near where Thorpe stood. Her gaze, though she made every effort to control it, drifted sometimes toward him. The black coat of his dress clothes became him even more than did the blue of his everyday wear. Open over his waistcoat, the contrast between the black and white made his chest seem wider and deeper. Remembering what she’d seen of his body in the lake, Lillian suddenly found the brightly gilded salon rather warm.

  The moment the clock’s hands stood at quarter to six, Lillian rose. “It is time for Addy to go to bed. Say good night to everyone, my dear.”

  “Good night, Grandmother,” Addy said, standing up at once. She endured another embrace from Mrs. Grenshaw, even kissing the pasty cheek thrust in her direction, and gave no sign that it was unwelcome. Lady Genevieve merely nodded in response to Addy’s farewell to her. Lillian followed the child.

  “Good night, Papa and Grandfather,” Addy called from the doorway, contenting herself with a wave in the general direction of the purple-gray marble of the fireplace. Stepping into the hall, she waited until Lillian had shut the door behind them. “Thank heavens that’s done.” Addy sighed exactly as a hostess might after the last guests were gone.

  Lillian hid a
smile. “I think you were very well behaved. So much so that you deserve a special reward. Would you like me to ask Mrs. Becksnaff if there is any of that custard left from yesterday? You could have it instead of bread and butter before you go to sleep.” Addy nodded, smiling. “Very well, run upstairs and I’ll go and ask her.”

  Before she’d gone very far, Addy paused. Turning back, she stood on one foot and said, “I don’t mind having you here half so much as Great said I would.” Then she dashed away.

  Lillian did not know whether to be glad that Addy was beginning to accept her or not. Though this was certainly nattering, she must not forget that her time at the castle was limited. She could hardly believe that this was only her third day here, for already so much had happened. The personality of her young charge was beginning to interest her more and more. Were all children as wise as Addy in their own way? She couldn’t remember whether she herself had been such a strange mixture of child and adult, coolly facing uncongenial people one moment and yearning after custard the next.

  Preparations for dinner were at their height in the kitchen. Lillian did not want to interrupt anyone to make her request known, but Mrs. Becksnaff caught sight of her. She stood with her hands on her hips and waited for Lillian to come up to her.

  However, when she heard what Lillian wanted, her expression softened. “Ah, the poor thing. I’ll make some up fresh, Miss Cole, and send it along by Burrows. It should have occurred to me that Miss Addy would want something to cool her throat after jawing with that old watering pot... I beg your pardon, Miss Cole.” Mrs. Becksnaff’s face, already red from her exertions, shone a deeper crimson.

  “Never mind. I shan’t even say that I agree entirely. Please send up the custard whenever you can spare a moment.”

  “Appearing out of the blue, like that. They should be ashamed. ‘Course, that one wouldn’t know what it’s like to run a house like this one. Lympie Hall, indeed. It isn’t half so big as my grandma’s cottage. That Mrs. Grenshaw’s dead common, for all she’s Mrs. Everard’s mam.”